Authors: Stacey Lynn
So I settled into my chair, reached for my margarita glass, and decided that whatever was going to happen in the future, I was no longer going to worry.
We'd either move forward at some point when the time was right, or we'd become friends. I couldn't continue worrying about Aidan and questioning every single one of our conversations.
“You ready?”
Aidan spun his key chain around his thumb and waited. It was a move he did almost every night before he left my house. Sometimes I wondered if he even realized he did it.
I watched as Camden turned the corner toward her home. She lived only a couple of blocks away, and Latham Hills was safe enough for her to be walking home alone, but I always hated seeing her disappear around the turn. Paige and Suzanne had climbed into a taxi seconds ago, and it was already out of sight.
As Camden flashed me one last wave, signaling the coast was clear, I turned back to Aidan. “Yeah, I am.”
He lifted his hands in a gesture I assumed was silent man speak for “after you,” so I began walking toward his truck. When his hand hit my lower back, I jumped, startled by the contact.
We didn't normally touch.
I fought back a grin. I liked the feel of his large hand on the small of my back, guiding me. I liked the kind of guy Aidan was. He was tall and strong and tough, but I also knew that, beneath his grief, he was kind.
He's probably an amazing dad.
Was.
I stumbled at the realization of what I'd just thought.
Aidan's arm moved from my back to my elbow, catching me before I tumbled off the curb.
“You okay?” His hand on my elbow tightened slightly and I looked at him over my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. “I'm okay.”
“You had a lot to drink tonight.”
He opened the door to his truck and I braced myself against it before I lifted myself in.
“It happens on girls' nights.” I smiled, but my lips felt numb and I sounded slightly slurred to my own ears.
By the look on Aidan's face, I figured I sounded like I was speaking around a mouthful of cotton balls.
He shook his head, cracked that hint of a smile I was beginning to like so much, and shut my door, rocking the truck with the movement. My eyes followed him as he walked around the front and then climbed in on his side.
When he started the truck, I leaned my head back on the headrest and inhaled. The cab smelled like sweat and some sort of cologne or aftershave. I didn't know what it was, but I liked it. Spicy. Manly.
Something I'd buy for the man because it fit him perfectly.
Country music blared through the speakers, and we didn't speak while he pulled out into the street and began driving toward home.
The silence was our usual thing, and with the tension from earlier seeming to evaporate, I convinced myself that I'd imagined it all. Perhaps it'd been too long since I'd been with a man and I created itâalong with his desire for meâin my head simply because I needed to get laid.
And I did need it. It'd been over a year since I'd had sex. It hadn't been a problem until Aidan started spending evenings at my house, but now that he had been, it was all I could think about.
Wondering what his strong hands could do to me. What it would be like to have his body over me, thrusting inside me.
I shook visibly and watched Aidan turn a dial on the truck's console.
“You cold?”
Horny,
I thought. And it was the worst time to be feeling that way. Not with this man, not on this night, and not in these circumstances.
Wisely, I pressed my lips together. “No.”
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye but said no more.
By the time we pulled into my drive, I was a live wire, sparking with the need for physical contact.
Yet there was nothing I could do about it, because the only man I wanted just lost his son a month ago.
There was no way he'd want me.
Even on a good day, I was so much plainer, simpler, than the “vultures” who were apparently, based on previous conversations, circling his house with goodies and store-bought food.
Aidan talked about them occasionally and it never bothered me.
Now, for some strange reason, it did.
Perhaps because I could catalog my inadequacies compared to those women.
Smaller chest. Short. Simple. Ordinary.
Something that felt like heartbreak settled in my chest, and my earlier resolve to stop worrying disappeared as the thoughts grew louder and stronger inside my mind.
Aidan opened his door and climbed out, but I didn't move. My body had become lethargic. The realization of my inadequacies weighed me down.
I jumped when he opened my door and held out his hand. “Need some help?”
Lots of it. Probably professional.
I took his hand and let him pull me out of the truck. He didn't let go when my feet hit the driveway. When I flexed my fingers to suggest he do so, his grip only tightened.
Okay. So that was weird, but whatever.
We walked to my front door, and once we reached it, he let go so I could dig out my keys.
“Thank you,” I muttered, unable to look at him. I didn't want him to see the pain that filled my eyes because I knew the rejection was going to happen. It had to. Everyone always left me anyway. I was used to it by now.
Or I should have been.
The sudden onslaught of sadness surprised even me. Aidan and I didn't have anything to lose.
With my key in the door, I opened it and tried to step inside, but he blocked my path.
“Chelsea.”
“Hmm?” I stared at the ground. He was in front of me. I could see his scuffed work boots and the frayed hem of his jeans.
I didn't look up. I couldn't.
This was stupid. I was acting like such a stupid, silly girl.
A quick, shocked breath filled the air when his hand touched my chin. I couldn't think as he lifted my chin until I was face to face with him.
His eyebrows were pulled in tight; stress lined his forehead and the edges of his eyes.
He was frowning. “You feel okay?”
I nodded slowly. “I'm good.”
“You don't look good.”
I flinched.
“Not what I meant.”
“I know,” I responded quickly. Too quickly. I tried to jerk out of his grasp but it didn't work.
“Talk to me.”
I opened my mouth to speak before snapping it closed. Anything I had to say would make me seem like an overemotional, crazy drunk woman. I wasn't prepared for that kind of humiliation. Thankfully I hadn't drunk enough to make my filter disappear.
“I'm just tired,” I said to satisfy him. By his scowl, I knew he didn't believe me.
His tongue slid along his bottom lip, and I inhaled a gasp of air. I needed it. Perhaps the alcohol caused my lungs to stop working correctly.
His eyes darted back and forth between mine. I frowned, wondering what he was looking for and what he saw.
Did he see the insecure girl who had to continually say goodbye to everyone she loved but tried like hell to hide the emptiness that brought?
“You're always there for me.”
My nose twitched. “It's not a problem.”
He nodded slowly, just once. I watched something happen in his eyes and then looked down as he fidgeted on his feet, shifting his weight. He seemed nervous, which made no sense.
His hand on my chin moved slowly to the back of my neck, cupping me and bringing me closer to him. He was a breath away from me, his face so close to mine, when he roughly whispered, “But I haven't thanked you.”
“It's not necessaryâ”
His lips hit mine. My eyes flew open and I gasped, opening my mouth. Instantly, his tongue pressed in, circling my tongue and tasting me.
Ohâ¦myâ¦gosh. It was like heaven and hell wrapped up in the prettiest package I could ever receive. Better than a blue box with a silver ribbon from Tiffany.
He tasted better than I thought he wouldâclean and crispâand I leaned in, wanting more.
No, I didn't lean in. I
melted.
My tongue tangled with his and a moan escaped my throat.
It was that sound that made both of us snap back to reality.
He pulled away and my mouth was still open, my brain working too slowly to process what just happened, how absolutely incredible it feltâ¦and the look of regret all over his face.
“Shit.” Aidan's fingers dropped from my neck and I stood on my front porch completely dumbfounded as both of his hands flew to his neck, clasping at the back. He looked up at the sky and gritted out, “Fuck.”
My brain was moving too slowly to process the sudden shift in him.
“Aidan,” I said, reaching out for him.
He dodged my touch and spun on his heels. “I gotta go.”
He walked away without looking back, jumped into his truck, and peeled out of my driveway, spinning his tires and leaving traction marks on the street as he raced the hell away from me.
Fucking hell. I kissed her.
And I liked it.
No,
like
wasn't a strong enough word for the reaction that had coursed through my body the moment my lips touched hers. With one hand gripping a beer, I sat on my back patio, and stared out into the darkness, but all I saw was Chelsea.
She was all I'd seen for years, even if I tried to date other women to forget about her. It wasn't the time for us. It still wasn't.
Jesus. She'd been nothing but kind to me for the last several weeks, and not only did I take complete advantage of her earlier, I'd acted like a fucking prick afterward.
If she showed up at my house and smacked me I wouldn't be surprised. I'd toss her my other cheek. I fucking deserved it after tonight.
But damn it. It was Chelsea. Two years ago I saw her at the middle school, looking lost and sad, and holding herself apart from all the other parents while they helped sign their kids up for their fall semester classes. She laughed and smiled, but I knew even then it was all an act.
She was a shitty liar. I didn't think she actually had it in her to tell a lie. But she hid the truth well enough behind fake smiles that still stole my breath and made my dick hard. We'd left that night and Derrick had looked back at her, pushing me in the shoulder. “She's hot.”
I'd told him to shut up.
He'd told me to go for it.
I told him to mind his own business. He was only eleven and didn't know anything.
Tears fell down my cheeks at the fucking memory. Of all the conversations I wished I could take back, that one wasn't the worst. The times I'd yelled at him, told him to stop being such a little shit. When I had taken away his phone for not cleaning his room and we'd argued. When I had grounded him over who in the hell knows what and he screamed he hated me. Who gave a shit about any of that now?
Who fucking gave a shit about messy rooms and dirty dishes and missing curfews and not doing chores when now, all I wanted to fucking do was throw my arms around my kid, pull him close, and fucking kiss the hell out of him. He was too old for it, but damn I wanted that.
“Shit,” I muttered, and tossed my beer out to the backyard where at least another dozen littered my grass.
Teenage laughter rang out in the distance, echoing through the dark night, and I clenched my jaw as more tears fell. Broken. I was so damn broken. I had no business going to work yet, even though I did. I had no business doing anything. Every day felt like one foot in front of the other, going through the mindless motions, getting shit done until I could crawl into bed and bawl like a fucking baby.
No one saw my emotions. I never let anyone see them.
That first time I stopped at Chelsea's house, I hadn't even thought about what I was doing. I couldn't go home. Didn't want to go to one of the guys' houses so they could all sit around, staring at the dad whose kid just died while we all acted like everything was fine.
It wasn't fucking fine.
It was never going to be fucking fine.
Somehow, Chelsea's soft voice, the lack of pity in her eyes, and the way she just put me to work helped. It kept helping. It gave me something to do when I wanted to pull out my hair and rage like a fucking beast at the unfairness of the whole damn world.
Laughter rang out again and I pushed to my feet, unable to bear listening to someone else's happiness. Fuck them.
I trudged through my house, barely noticing the growing mess in the kitchen I didn't give a shit about cleaning up. Messy kitchen, dirty dishesâ¦it didn't fucking matter anymore.
None of it mattered.
Yet when I climbed into bed, tears didn't fall like they always did. Instead, I wrapped my hand around my dick, closed my eyes, and pictured soft pink lips that were fuller on the bottom than on top, hair that fell around shoulders and shone in the sun making it look like gold. I saw large blue eyes, slightly too large for a face, and a nose that was slightly turned up at the end. A body that was tight and firm with breasts smaller than a handful. None of it seemed proportioned just right, but it all fit together perfectly.
When I came, with a grunt that filled the air in my room, and my seed shot all over my stomach and clung to my fingers, I fucking groaned her name,
Chelsea.
I cleaned up, climbed back into bed, and for the first time since she left my house after Derrick's funeral, I didn't cry. I closed my eyes and wondered what in the fuck I was going to do.
Nothing could happen with Chelsea. Not now. I didn't have shit to give her, and anything I could try to give was fucking empty, like my heart had become. I'd always been attracted to her, but could never bring myself to act on it.
Doing it now would make everything worse.
It would be best if I stayed the fuck away. She deserved someone better. Someone whole. Someone who had the ability to fucking
feel
something.
And that man wasn't me. Would never be me again.